Servant of Desires
by Moonbeamswift
Summary: Well I've posted this before, I re-read it, realised how pants it was and re did it! Like to think of the 'stranger' a kinda Legolas in his youth...hmm...


Servant of Desires  
  
Pearl clouds flittered across the grey-blue sky while the rain dusted the ground, turning everything in its reach into winking crystals. The air was heavy and oppressive, suffocating all exultant life. And there, there she lay, a small insignificant figure.  
  
Alone.  
  
She lay curled up in a tight ball, a tattered cloak covered her modesty, while protruding bones stuck out at sharp angles through her taut skin. At a quick glace, she could have been dismissed as a diminutive blemish in the forever rolling hills.  
  
Were you to look closer, you would have seen a face that held an ageless presence around it, a face that held innocence yet a wisdom that can only be gained through years of experience. It was deathly pale and etched with grace and wisdom; each crease represented knowledge beyond the depths of imagination. And while the skin was unmarred and without flaw, one could almost sense the scars deep down, where the eye could not see into the depths of the soul.  
  
A breath of wind caressed her tiny frame, lapping at her smooth hair that lay on her shoulders. Each strand danced as though hypnotised, swaying in the breeze, and that with each whisper of wind burned a brighter copper, shinning and flickering like a new flame. A small shudder escaped her body and with it a moan. The sad figure curled up smaller, withdrawing almost into nothing.  
  
The physical and emotional pain was still burning and seething inside her, flowing through her pumping veins. Her mind blackened as she lost consciousness.  
  
She hung there. Suspended against the chamber wall by her skinny wrists. Any decency she had had, was lost. Yet most distressing were her eyes. Eyes that had once danced with the wonders and joy of life had died, like a little candle that had be doused of its flame. Eyes that were now just empty. All emotions that she had were tucked into the inner depths of her heart where no one could touch them. Her mind was shrouded, like a dark, great hand that covered her mind, removing her from the world. All hope and compassion had gone. She was a shell, a thing. She now simply was.  
  
Footsteps echoed outside the cell, yet she made no attempt to move. Instead she closed her eyes and let out a small, shuddering sigh and readied herself for what was to come. A tall shadow touched her, its long fingers reaching out towards where she hung, covering her naked frame. She squinted slightly and saw the shape of a person reaching up to release her from the chains, as he pressed against her she could smell the stench of all things foul that clung to him like brambles to skin. His touch made her shiver with disgust. She collapsed onto the floor when the repressive chains were released and was hauled up effortlessly by her hair. Only then did she see his eyes. Slitted and evil, they stared at her body hungrily. This time she closed her eyes tightly as she lost her senses, and body. She felt so cheap, so dirty, so unloved. Her mind was swimming as she burned inside. Everything she was, was lost to Them.  
  
The cold floor numbed her even more, making her squirm. The coldness bit into her flesh, yet inside she blazed. An unheard groan escaped her parched lips as he stopped. He heaved her up and flung her to the wall where he ensnared her in the chains.  
  
The darkness engulfed her like a tidal wave as the door slammed shut. Her head lolled onto her chest as she passed into uneasy, dreamless sleep. Yet a light within her glowed eerily, momentarily lighting the chamber. Her pale skin gave out a pure white luminosity, although inside she felt so dark and dirty. Blacker than the dank cell she was held prisoner in. Loneliness swam inside her. All she wanted was to be loved, to be shown that she was someone instead of.instead of this.  
  
Time inside did not exist. Life merely swept on, like the forever changing tides. Her life felt like a chain and ball attached to ones' leg. A constant haul and struggle, weighing you down until no energy is left. But time had passed, troubles unknown to her were occurring in the outside world, troubles that meant she was 'visited' less often, leaving her yearning for human contact. Yet had she known, her wishes were soon to come true.  
  
The horse flicked up his head defiantly, snorting in fear and bracing legs against his masters orders. The man on his back jumped lightly off and patted the stallions sweating neck soothingly. Words of an ancient language were whispered with caring to his companion. The man lifted his head, a light in his eyes shone radiantly as he inhaled the autumn morning deeply. The sound of a nightingale pouring out her heart in song drifted lazily towards him and he again patted the horses' neck. The stallions' ears flicked back and forth in a silent language that the man seemed to understand, and hugged him. The horse turned and walked away solemnly, his ears straining for the sound of his masters' call. But it did not come.  
  
The tall slender trees thinned out and eventually cleared. The sight that met the mans gaze made him retch, like a sharp kick to the gut, which momentarily overthrew his balance. A tall black tower leered over him, emitting its shadow far. The tower itself was made from shining onyx, which reflected nothing but fear and death. He marvelled at the sheer size of it, the very top was not visible to the naked eye, but cloaked in heavy grey clouds that were ready to spew its contents. The very ground he stood on reeked of decay and death. Slowly, he came to a stop and shrugged off his bag. He withdrew from it a torn and tatty black cloak and fastened it about him, concealing the white scabbard and sword. Bending down, he scraped some mud and pulled a disgusted look at the putrid texture while he smeared it into his beautiful face to form part of a disguise. Finally, he took out a short bow and quiver full of arrows before concealing the bag underneath a bramble bush. Looking over his shoulder he sighed and muttered "Namárie, tenn' enomentielva" under his breath before squaring his shoulders and heading towards the entrance gates.  
  
An oasis of hope in a desert of pessemism.  
  
The ant scuttled nearer. Tiny antenna whisking back and fourth. Gradually it reached her toe and clambered over it. There was a twitch of the lip, no- where near a smile, but something perhaps distantly related. Suddenly a light within her burned her skin as it pushed up memories and her eyes blazed with hope. Memories she thought were lost, locked too deep within her heart, came to her in a whirlwind. Her face set as she struggled to release herself from the cruel chains that bound her. The metal bit into her wrists like a vice, but still she fought. This one ant had released memories of an outside world within the girl, yet oblivious to this, he continued on to the security of his nest.  
  
Still she fought, the pain clearly engraved upon her faultless face, yet her features were set. Beads of sweat formed on her brow and she clenched her teeth. A power within her surged forth accompanied by a yell and she pulled, pulled so hard she felt the crack of the chains breaking loose from the stone wall. She staggered forward from the strength of her rage and blinked.  
  
She was free.  
  
A joy that was indescribable bubbled within her and she fell onto the floor weeping. Tears of joy that she thought she would never shed streamed down her face, making a path through the dirt on her cheeks. Gulping down the stuffy air she raised herself. Amid the cobwebs and gloom she glimpsed some rags. Her spindly legs could not support her, nor could she trust them, so she crawled towards the pile. Most of the rags crumbled at her touch save for a tattered grey cloak. Batting the cobwebs and dust away she sobbed in disbelief. These were the things she first arrived in. The cloak was spun from the finest of silk and was pure white and like her, had an eerie glow about it. Carefully she wrapped herself in it and headed to the door. A cry erupted from within her as to her horror she discovered the door was locked. Her face fell like the torrential rain outside. Leaning against the wall she allowed herself to drop. She had to find a way out.  
  
He frowned slightly and adopted a slight swagger. He felt ridiculous, yet it had to be done. He approached the tall gates and was surveyed by a guard. He could feel the guards' eyes search him critically, one slip, and he would be slain. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as he walked towards him. The guard made a gesture and the tall oak gates swung open. An undetectable sigh escaped his trembling lips as he entered. Behind him the doors slammed. He was in the land of darkness.  
  
The rain soaked through him as he hurried to reach the tower, the freezing rain gnawing him to the bone. The tower dominated his line of vision and he felt his jaw drop. Again he sighed and gave one last lingering glance to the outside world before entering.  
  
The stifling heat and silence struck him first. He felt his senses sharpen and became more wary. If he passed any one in the corridors and passage ways he would shrink away from them, eyeing them suspiciously. At last he came to a flight of stairs leading down towards what he guessed was the cellars and dungeons. Climbing down he became aware of the dankness the place held. He felt like a fly caught in a spider's web, almost certainly facing imminent doom. He came to a split passage and sniffed the air. The passage to the left stunk of barley and tobacco, most likely the cellars, and the passage on the right had a foreboding atmosphere. He guessed that this passage led to the dungeons and headed towards them.  
  
Footsteps reverberated outside and she held her breath. A clear voice rang out, piercing the silence like a sword. The voice sounded familiar, but she could not remember it. Again the voice called, "Nárwen." Memories stirred within her soul as her name was called. Then she spoke, her voice as clear and wonderful as an angels', startling even herself,  
  
"Here."  
  
The scrapping of the keys in the lock made her quiver with anticipation. The door swung open and the figure of a man was silhouetted against the door frame. Her scream rent the silence, an arrow stabbing though flesh. The tall figure wiped his face to reveal his pale skin. She gasped at her mistake and slapped her hand to her mouth to stop herself from crying out in disbelief. They stood there, still as statues, not a muscle twitching. Waiting for Them to come. Voices were heard from outside.  
  
"Someone's loose!"  
  
The tall figure tossed aside his cloak to reveal his glowing white scabbard and sword.  
  
"Run."  
  
For one fleeting moment she stared at him. She could see in his eyes a calmness, a kindness. This man, this stranger, was saving her. A feeling warmed her inside and in that instant she knew she loved him.  
  
He could see her eyes as she stopped. Eyes that were filled with such a deep pain that it hurt him to look. Yet they had hope, a new hope that he had kindled. Her beauty was radiant and pure and he felt a tug inside, the feeling of love towards this strange girl.  
  
Tearing his gaze away from hers he un-buckled his sword and tossed it to her. The bow that rested on his shoulder was in his hands quicker than she could blink. Again he called, but louder.  
  
"Run."  
  
Her feet pounded under her as she pelted down the corridor. Before she ran up the steps she turned. The air was filled with the sound of the bowstring, singing its death song. He had slain many, but with every one he shot, five took its place. A surge from within the group ripped forward and he fell. Using a knife, which he took from one of the fallen, he inflicted death among them. Before she could call out a warning, a sword glimmered in the pale candlelight as it plunged down, and met its target. He looked up; an expression of surprising calmness was upon his face. Gulping in the air he weakly pleaded,  
  
"Run." And then he was gone.  
  
She spun around and flew up the steps.  
  
Her thoughts jumbled as she ran. A straggler almost bumped into her but was cut off by a swift slit in the throat. More came, pounding like hell fire yet they to were cut off. Stabbing and hewing, her movements were swift and sure and flowed like quicksilver, her blade flashed and cleaved with a mind of its own. The blade sang a hypnotic song of death that was in harmony with the sounds of the dying. Then it stopped. The floor was slick with blood yet her eyes were hard. Years of pain and torment were avenged. Almost. An emotional pain would never leave her, no matter what she did.  
  
Then she ran.  
  
Ran through the corridors. Ran through the open gates. Ran into the forest. Ran so fast the world blurred around her. Ran until her legs buckled under her and she collapsed.  
  
And there she lay. On the hillside, that small diminutive girl. For that was all she was. A girl. A tear trickled down her cheek, glistening like a star high up in the heavens. It fell with a silent drip onto her hand before it was whisked away by the wind. The starlight reflected upon the sword that lay nearby. She could see herself mirrored in it, a fair young girl. Yet as the wind shifted the reflection became distorted and she could see him. His tall, pale figure, looking peaceful in his simply clad body. In his hand he held a flower. A flower that held so much beauty and wonder she smiled, for the first time in years. And it was striking. The moon burst free from the clouds that swathed him and shone forth his radiant light. The wind gently whispered, and she heard his voice murmur "Nárwen." Slowly, she reached towards the sword and grasped its handle firmly. 


End file.
